


The Application Process

by herradurra1



Series: Jigsaw [4]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Jigsaw Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herradurra1/pseuds/herradurra1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post DoC, Vincent takes a bit of a trip off reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Application Process

He woke in the hours just before dawn, creeping silently from the Highwind residence like the shadow he had once been. He wasn't much for goodbyes, yet the worry he knew he would cause his hosts gave him a pang of regret.  
  
He was relieved that once that his cloak had not made this much of the journey with him; this way no eyewitness reports could give away a telltale slip of billowing crimson. No, only a long haired man in work gloves, also stolen from his hosts, scuffed boots, jeans and a worn leather jacket.  
  
Just another lost soul, caught between this world and the next.  
  
Vincent waited patiently for the train to slow and hopped neatly onto the box car, on his way to his next destination.  
  
He got off he train in Corel for no better reason than he hadn't seen Barret in a while.  But walking up to the mans house, he realized he hadn't called; obviously having a phone was not the same as understanding the etiquette attached to one.  Or...was that someone in the back workshop? His sensitive hearing caught his friend's voice and that of a young girl.  
  
Marlene. Shit, she couldn't see him like this.  He did the only sensible thing, when standing outside the home of a seven foot tall man with a gun on his arm, alone with his daughter.  
  
He crawled up to the attic window, broke it, and climbed through. Dry-swallowing his medications, it occurred to him before falling into sixteen hours of uninterrupted dreamless sleep that maybe, he should have his dosages adjusted.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"You know, when I used ta call ya a slap dizzy crack monkey, it was really just 'cause I liked ya, Vince.  And no offense man but you smell."  
  
Vincent sat up sharply and shook out the cobwebs in his brain.  He wasn't terribly successful.  "Good morning?"  His mouth tasted like an unchanged litter box.  Not that he'd know, of course.  
  
"Try afternoon and ya owe me a window." his friend put down a sandwich. something with bacon, and his mouth watered. Gods, when had he eaten last? At Cid's?  Had to be; there wasn't any food on the train.  
  
"What day is it?"  
  
"Tuesday, man.  You all right?"  
  
Four days.  That couldn't be right.  He needed to get to a doctor; something was wrong, well more wrong than usual, anyway. "I need to go."  
  
"Ya need ta eat.  And bathe and wash those clothes.  Ya really do smell, man.  Whatever's wrong can wait till you're back on your feet."  
  
He ate.  Then he showered and wore a pair of Barret's massive sweatpants, tied up double with the drawstring,  while his clothes were in the washer, and huddled on the sofa and read a book with Marlene.  It was so surreal, he'd have thought he was dreaming but his dreams were never so safe.  In the end he stayed another day only because Barret threatened to hold his clothing hostage, but the extra rest and meals and someone to make sure he took his pills did him a world of good.  
  
Explaining to a seven year old girl why he looked like shit and had trouble remembering where he lived was less simple, but eventually he convinced Barrett to take him to the bus terminal.  
  
"You gonna take care of yourself?"  
  
"Of course."    
  
But as he dozed off, his pack an ersatz pillow tucked against the bus window,   his mind had already started to fracture again.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
He knew there was someone he should stop and see in Costa del Sol but all he could think of was that he had to get to Kalm. so he walked to the Midgar Ferry, which everyone still called the Midgar Ferry and always would, hitched a ride to Kalm General,  and waited two hours to be told his neurologist was at a charity auction.  
  
Pissed off, he walked over to the WRO building.  He'd stayed at the hospital until past business hours and though Reeve was almost certainly in the building, he hated to disturb his friend.  
  
Reeve had already done so damn much.  
  
They all had.  
  
Still, having few options, he walked up to the late-hours receptionist and asked.  She gave him a suspicious look and asked if he were expected.  
  
"No, I was delayed at Doctor Sawyer's office."  
  
"I...see."  
  
"Yes.  Sawyer?  You know, the planet's leading authority on psychiatric impacts of neurologic conditions?"  He was tired, and testy, and not dealing with Reeve's A-team.  
  
"Yes, sir.  Please wait here."  
  
"I'll use the restroom if you don't mind."  Uppity bitch.  He did his business and walked over to the sink to wash his hands.  Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he saw why the woman was so...disturbed.  
  
He hadn't brushed his hair since he'd left Barret's, and was dressed still in the scuffed leather jacket he'd worn on the train.  His clothes were clean at least, but his old military issue backpack, borrowed from Cid, made him look like a homeless nut job straight from a barrel camp under some bridge.  
  
And he'd just admitted to the woman he'd come from a head doctor's office to see the fucking WRO Commissioner.  Because he was his friend.  Yeah, next up, he was visiting Papa Noel.  
  
Fucking hell.  He splashed cold water on his face, combed his hair and straightened his clothes.  Carrying his backpack in his hand because it looked so much more respectable, he decided he was going to explain things to the receptionist.  Yes, that should work.  
  
She wasn't there.  Ah, probably off fetching the men with the butterfly nets.  But standing unattended was the little machine used for making identification badges.  
  
 _Nifty.  Well, Reeve did offer me a job once._  
  
The idea of renting a room at the Kalm Inn with the gil he had on him, sleeping and getting a good meal, and calling Reeve in the morning never occurred to him.  Instead, he used the timer to take his picture and type in the required information.  The one thing he didn't have access to was the software to code the magnetic strip, and typically Strife would not answer his phone.  So he scratched it with his gauntlet to make it impossible to scan, and ran out the door before she could return.  
  
He used his new identification to gain access to the car lot with a charming look and a story about how he'd damaged the card in the laundry--it was an often convenient fact that the mentally ill could be very persuasive as well--and the problem of how to get out of the lot was solved with a simple hotwire and a picked lock on the gate.  Within twenty minutes he was back on the road to Edge, out of the lot before anyone could examine the now abandoned card to discover the magnetic strip had never been activated in the first place.  
  
He still had absolutely no idea where he lived.  
  
He had purchased the condominium because he was tired of doing paperwork for apartments and even tireder of hotel rooms, but had only stayed in it a handful of times.  Once again sleep deprived, he couldn't really remember if he'd taken his meds the night before.  So he let himself lapse into a kind of autopilot and pulled over to get coffee, going through the contents of his wallet.  Several key cards fell out.  One was labeled in permanent marker, in the small neat letters of a man who had a small, neat life.  
  
Rude.  
  
Okay.  He knew where that was.  Parking the car on the street, he grabbed his pack and climbed the back staircase, letting himself in silently with the card.  It was quite late so he went straight to the guest room and went to sleep.  
  
When his cell began to ring--Reeve about the car, no doubt--he opened the window and threw it as hard as he could, and went back to sleep.  
  
~~~~  
  
Rude was gone when he woke, which he expected.  The man did have to work after all.  But what he did not expect was three WRO regulars standing outside the door when he tried to leave.  
  
"Vincent Valentine?"  
  
"Yes."  His tone said, "Duh."  
  
"We are here to escort you to the WRO holding facility."  
  
"You're arresting me?"  
  
"For the theft of Organization property.  Falsification of Organization documents.  And destruction of an Organization-issued communication device."  
  
"What?  I tossed his phone out the window.  It's not the first one."  
  
"Sir, may I remind you that anything you admit, once you have been informed of your status of custody , can be entered under court record?"  
  
"I want to talk to Reeve."  
  
"Sir, Commissioner Tuesti is the one who ordered your arrest.  Are you coming with us or do you require restraint?"  
  
He wanted to tell them, good fucking luck, but he sensed that was in enough trouble already.  So he went peacefully and tried to remember when his life had jumped the tracks just this badly.  At the jail, they took his pack from him and when he asked for something to drink, gave him a cup of water that didn't even qualify as a shot glass.  
  
"I'll need my medications."  
  
"We have a call in to your physician."  
  
"He's at some charity event."  
  
"Please be patient Mr. Valentine."  
  
"If I were patient, I wouldn't have stolen a car."    
  
What he thought was flawless logic, his guards thought was further admission of guilt, or some other humorless legal term and continued taking notes.  Gods, but someone needed to take the sticks out of these kids' asses.  Finally after about six hours of bad sleep, Reeve arrived.  
  
"Vince, what in the name of Gaia..."  
  
"I'd like to ask you the same thing."  
  
"You stole a car.  You compromised property, you faked identification I've been freely offering you for a year.  This isn't a bored prank, Vince, this is state security.  I was two floors up, why didn't you call me?  Hells, why didn't you call from Rocket Town?  Or have Cid bring you, you were sitting on a gods damned air field!"    
  
Vincent blinked.  Reeve was _pissed_.  "I don't remember."  And he didn't.  All of the perfectly sensible alternatives had escaped him at the time, like water through his fingers at the ocean.  
  
Some of the fury evaporated, though not all of it.  "You aren't okay, are you?  Gods.  Have you been to the doctor?"  
  
"I tried.  He's off being social.  I kind of realized something was wrong when it seemed a good idea to break into Barret's house."  
  
Reeve couldn't help it, he laughed.  "Where are your drugs?"  
  
"Idiot up front won't give them to me, not that they seem to be doing any good at anything but helping me discover my inner juvenile delinquent."  
  
"I'll be right back."  
  
He returned a few minutes later with a handful of pills and a large glass of water with crushed ice.  "All right, there is a message from the doctor confirming that these are your real drugs, and from your attempted visit, he says to up the Lumal one milligram and you probably need some vitamins, even though he didn't see you.  I'd say you probably need a new neurologist.  One more thing."  
  
"Hmmm?"  Oh gods, nothing was better than really, really cold water.  He slurped it down until he got an ice headache.  And he needed to brush his teeth in the worst way.  
  
"Two weeks from now, you start work."  
  
Say what?  "Reeve, this isn't funny."  
  
"No, at the Kalm office.  I mean it, this time.  You need something to do.  We can start off slow, some courier work, maybe have you work on security for some special events.  I'll give you a staff to help you out.  But this wandering around the planet like a nomad.  It's not really working out, is it?"  
  
No, it wasn't.  All he did was get into trouble.  Plus, he was having this conversation in a jail cell, which should have been a clue.  He flicked at the bendy straw a few times, trying to think of something to say.  
  
"Can I get out?  Reeve, I've never been arrested in my _life_."  
  
"Well, it's all about new experiences, isn't it?"  His friend smiled brightly.  "You know, we had to do this with Yuffie.  Give her a job.  She's fine now."  
  
"The Kisaragi Penitentiary Plan.  This, at last, is the professional deportment to which I have always aspired."  
  
"I want to see you get some rest, and take your pills, and eat.  And get some structure back in your life.  I feel...I failed you somehow.   Do you need somewhere to stay?"  
  
He fumbled through the pack that had just been returned to him, but the key card was gone, most likely still on the nightstand where he had left it.  And the phone, tossed out the window.  Speaking of windows, he owed Barret for one, and had no way contact Cid and apologize.  He could use a glass of wine too.  Gods, a grilled cheese sandwich would be heaven, right about now.  
  
All of which could be remedied at one, handy, centralized location.  His neighborhood bar.  Tifa was always trying to mother him; this was her big chance.  
  
There was only one fly in the ointment.  He looked up from the pack, once again defeated by real life.    
  
"I need...to use a phone."


End file.
